


return to the ordinary world

by boyghosts



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eiji isn't doing too hot, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Magical Realism, Near Death Experiences, Set a few years before garden of light, Sing and Eiji care for each other a lot, Supernatural Elements, even if he's technically a ghost, the devil works hard but ash "protective" lynx works harder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-11-27 16:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18196409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyghosts/pseuds/boyghosts
Summary: Well, bite me, Eiji's mind supplied,never thought I’d get shot twice in my life, but here we are I guess, and smiled. He was going home. He’d been so, so tired.The man adjusted his aim -Same spot too, Eiji noted - and turned the safety off.And the whole world froze over.





	1. turn around now, you're my a-team

A hundred eighty-seven days after The End, Eiji Okumura found himself in the neon-soaked streets of New York again.

 

Which was to say: the pallid walls of his brand new apartment left much to be desired, and so a change of scenery was (desperately) in order. Which was to say: Eiji may or may not be looking for trouble. Which also was to say: Eiji didn’t _care_.

 

This lack of self-preservation wasn’t new, by all accounts. Eiji had not given a fuck about himself in months, as his relatives and, most recently, Sing, liked to point out. _Call me if you need anything, hear me?_ Sing had said,  _anything at all_ , as he shoved the crumpled note with his scrawl into Eiji's hand and pulled him close for a half-hug with all the grace of a baby swan growing into its limbs.

 

But Eiji couldn’t think of Sing now. Tonight, New York was so alive he could walk right up to its open mouth and let it swallow him whole. Let it pump a new heartbeat in his chest, make him feel something other than this thick, congealing grief that clung to his steps.

 

Eiji stopped by a pedestrian lane. The little red man brisk-walked to nowhere. Only two years since his last visit, and Eiji was already forgetting the street names. There should’ve been a motor service shop right across this street. Now, there was a milk tea shop in its place, crowded by high schoolers. A pair of lovers nuzzled their faces against each other. The rest of the world white noise. A tongue caught moonlight, burrowing into a cold, shivering ear.

 

Eiji looked away. A flare of desire flowered in his stomach; god, Eiji hadn’t had sex in so long. His body seized with neglect, and when he did touch himself it always the same position, always the same name he’d broken into syllables like a blasphemy. His stiff tongue could never cradle a name as soft as _Ash_ , _Aslan_ , the way it was meant to. And what was he doing now? Intruding into spaces never meant for him, again. Everywhere he turned, these bright glowing glass tubes warned him away. _Keep out; go home_.

 

Even when the barmaid told him, _boy, the stuff’s different back home, isn’t it_ ? _Want something nicer?_ he shook his head and demanded another one. When the vodka singed his throat, he was glad for it. After, hiccupping and wobbling out the pub, he’d tried and failed to get a cab back because he forgot the name of his street, too. That was okay; he had legs, he could walk. Eiji didn’t care. _Eiji didn’t care_.

 

The streets were pulling him in deeper. For some odd, inexplicable reason, Eiji couldn’t say no to it, not when it sounded so lonely. Or was that his own voice? The shadows here shape-shifting, climbing windows, dangling over rooftops to watch him stumble across the asphalt.

 

If he was lost, then all the better. This was his punishment, for being an utter fool. All this time, he’d thought Ash was just too busy to get around and reply to his letter, that maybe, _maybe_ he was just as forgettable and dispensable as he’d feared. He’d buried himself in his work, tried to rebuilt ties with his family. Tried to live a proper, civilian life, the kind that was suited for people like him. And then the phone call came and they told him Ash was dead, said they found Eiji’s bloodied letter in his hands, and New York was calling him back, demanding, _look_ , _look what you stole from us._

 

If only every day spent in Ash’s world was enough to pay penance, but Eiji knew a hundred bullet-riddled days wouldn’t be enough. No open wound would, no splintered bone. He’d left this city once; never again. He’d lose his softness if it mean this city would let him call it _home_.

 

He’d let himself fall to the wolves.

 

When Eiji found himself cornered between a concrete stairway and two hooded men, he went into a panic that lasted about two seconds. And then: calm. He recognized what kind of thugs they were; this was violence he remembered. He greeted it like an old friend. “S’ry,” he slurred, as they searched his pockets, “dun have ‘ny money.” He’d spent all his green American dollars during happy hour and was genuinely sorry about it. After they verified this was true, one man kneed him in the stomach, prompting Eiji to spill his stomach’s contents all over their boots.

 

They weren’t really happy about that.

 

At least the poison was out of his system. Now Eiji could see the glock clutched in the man’s fist, his face red with outrage.

 

 _Well, bite me_ , Eiji's mind supplied, _never thought I’d get shot twice in my life, but here we are I guess_ , and smiled. He was going home. He’d been so, so tired.

 

“You wanna die, you weird Asian fuck? Why you smiling like that?"

 

The man adjusted his aim - _S_ _ame spot too_ , Eiji noted - and turned the safety off.

 

And the whole world froze over.

 

* * *

 

 

When he awoke, a man in a white robe and startling green eyes was standing over his bed.

 

His brain felt exposed, wilting in the harsh light. “Ash?”

 

“Close,” the man replied, smiling gently. “Hello, Mr. Okumura. I’m your nurse, Ashley. Girl’s name, I know. How you feeling?”

 

“Like a demolition truck just ran me over,” he mumbled in Japanese. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of his own breath. There was an IV drip in his arm. Ash hated those things. “Ah... what happened?”

 

Instantly, the man’s face shifted. He chanced a look over his shoulder, then his voice dropped to an excited hush: "See, I was hoping to spare you the shock after just waking up and all, but you look tough enough for it. I mean, no biggie, it’s just the craziest thing-” he began, and his bright animated voice staggered ahead far too quickly for Eiji's soup brain. He caught pieces of it: CCTV footage showing two men stalking him the moment he left the bar, then the struggle, the gun-

 

“Said they heard the most agonizing fucking scream - pardon me - and when police arrived your assaulter - his whole arm had numbed, almost stage two of frostbite, up to the scapula. Fingers locked up they couldn’t pry the gun out his hand. They had to keep him like that all the way here. The other dude was shaking so bad he nearly bit his own goddamn tongue off. And then we found you.” Ashley looked at him like he was something unbelievable. Then he smiled kindly. ”Don’t you worry, everything’s in place. Just a little hangover, is all. You’ll go home intact.”

 

Eiji gaped at him. His tongue felt like cotton. “Sorry, so what are you saying?”

 

“I’m saying that you’re a real lucky motherfucker. Death must really not want you yet.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Hey, hey.” Ashley checked his temperature. “That’s a good thing. Means someone up there’s looking out for you. We haven’t had a medical mystery like this since we had Peggy the stuntwoman. Didn’t realize she was eight months pregnant until _after_ she did that Mad Max-esque film. Flopped in the theatres, but _jesus_ \- eight months. Can you imagine? Her boy was perfectly healthy, too.”

 

“Right.”

 

Somewhere, a TV was on. American flash report tangling American syllables. Someone, another patient perhaps, sneezed, just two beds over. Eiji chest felt heavy, like grief; for a moment there, while he'd been asleep, he was so sure he was going home.

 

Ashley whistled, “Frostbite in the middle of summer. Ain’t that the craziest thing.”

 

He pushed a cup of water into Eiji’s hands, dousing any hope for sleep. As Ashley moved to leave, Eiji said, “Hey, uh, sorry - you didn’t call any of my emergency contacts, did you?” He smiled, sheepish. “I mean, ah, I have no problem getting home on my own, I’ll be-”

 

“-he’ll be coming back with me,” someone said, and Eiji’s whole body locked up at the sound.

 

Behind the curtain emerged Sing. His Akira T-shirt was rumpled, like he’d slept 12 hours in it. Ironic, seeing the weary bags beneath his eyes. When he caught Eiji’s gaze, something far too honest for words threatened to spill.

 

Eiji looked away. He released a breath, then chuckled. “I don't have a choice, do I?”

 

"Saw a couple of journalists outside, just  _dying_  to talk to you," Sing said. "So if you have any better ideas, then no. You're stuck with me."

Eiji smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

The ride back from the hospital was quiet. Sing didn’t touch the stereo. When their eyes met, Eiji took that as cue to smile politely. Something about the stillness and the incremental space between their elbows seemed to calm whatever fire Sing was stewing in earlier. This, at the very least - his ability to appease bigger, bristling pets - was still intact.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Sing said eventually, chuckling. Eiji tore his eyes from his window and saw the wry press of Sing’s lips. Eiji wanted to say many things; how New York was so much more weary-boned than he remembered, how today, a Sunday, marked exactly the two hundredth day since Ash’s funeral.

 

Instead, Eiji said, “Sorry about not answering your calls,” because it was half the truth. The rest of it was something he knew Sing could read, even without words. Sing always had those eyes; Eiji couldn’t hide from them.

 

Even now, when Sing was just the same height as him, maybe a bit more if he got rid of that awful slouch. It touched Eiji, in a way. Made him feel tender, his heart clenching quietly all the way home as Sing blurred past the buildings. They were both changed, changing.

 

Sing, of course, shook his head at this. “ _That’s_ what’s got you all quiet? Jeez.” Eiji made a sheepish sound. When he looked at him again he caught Sing staring at him from the corner of his eye.

 

“You know, it's not safe if you don’t keep your eyes on the-”

 

“I am!”

 

That made Eiji giggle. “Hey, did you know my nurse’s name was Ashley? He's a guy,” he explained. “He told me I didn’t look so thrilled for someone who survived a “medical mystery.” Said I was missing a - what was the word - _zest_? A zest for life. What does that mean?”

 

“Uh,” Sing said, turning the corner. “Zest is like... it’s like when you’re excited for something.”

 

“Oh.” Eiji said. “Yeah. Well. He is probably right then.”

 

Sing laughed until he wasn’t. The car was slowing down.

 

Eiji watched Sing drag a hand over his face, wrestling with something. He’d parked the car by the street, beneath a red maple.

 

“Gotta piss?” Eiji asked.

 

“Eiji,” Sing said. “Stay with me.”

 

Right then, Eiji’s heart seized, threatening to gallop out his chest. “W-what?”

 

“I mean-you can stay over my dorm. My uni has a lot of public resource centers. You can do your research there, it’s free. I know you’ve been job-hunting. Right? I’m not the best cook either, but I make a mean spaghetti. All the best galleries are just ten minutes away. Spas, malls. Shit. Everything you need… you don’t have to worry-”

 

Eiji was at a loss. “Sing, I-”

 

"You don't have to stay forever or anything, just a couple of weeks. Longer. If you want."

 

" _Wait_ , Sing-"

 

“I don’t mean to ask anything more from you,” Sing said in a rush. “But… I-I can’t sleep, too. I know... I know it’s the same for you. You’re not alone in this, Eiji, and- _fuck_. I hate it when you don’t ask for help. I’m right here.”

 

Sing’s fists were white around the steering wheel. Eiji realized he was holding his breath; slowly, he exhaled, regaining balance. Seeing Sing's face like this made something in his chest stop rattling. Suddenly, reaching out was easy; he could pretend he was doing this just for Sing’s sake.

 

He cupped Sing’s cheek as gently as he could. His jaw had grown, already heavy and strong.

 

Slowly, Eiji pressed their foreheads together, the closest they could get without kissing.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Okay.”

 

Sing's eyes grew wide. Eiji gave him a small nod.

 

"Okay," he repeated, in case Sing didn't hear, and Sing clenched his eyes shut, squeezed Eiji's arm, and shuddered like a roof opening up to see the sun.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, when things settled in the dark, Sing let his forehead drop against Eiji’s shoulder.

 

“Yesterday, when I got the call, I thought you-” Sing stopped. His voice was small against Eiji’s nape. “I thought I’d lost you.”

 

For the briefest moment, Eiji fell outside himself and glimpsed the scene for what it was. He’d caused this. Sing was trembling against him, like debris falling, like the fifteen year old he once was. For the briefest moment, Eiji felt sorry. And then he felt nothing at all.

 

“I’m happy you’re alive,” Sing told him as Eiji turned and patted his hair. “God, Eiji, I’m so fucking happy you’re alive, _goddamn_.”

 

Eiji held him close. He did not say a word.

 

* * *

 

 

This was what Eiji couldn’t tell Sing:

 

How, that night, he was ready for death the way leaves were ready to surrender from their branches in the fall. How his bullet scar had throbbed, like the night it was gifted to him. How, after the gun sparked like flint in the dark, he felt a kiss against his lips, turning his mouth bruise-blue.

 

He was chattering when the medics found him. Said it looked like he’d seen a ghost.

 

The kiss was so cold. And Eiji was _alive_.

 

The only thing in his head: a small, betrayed wisp of a voice, saying. _I know what you’re trying to do, nii-chan._

 

 _Wait_ , Eiji thought, scrambling to follow. _W_ _ait-!_ But then he was alone again.

 

That gun was the first time.

 

The second time, there was water.


	2. the crossover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Silly,” Ash said. “Me being here? It’s not a sentence. I could never stay away from you for long. You think a stupid grave’s enough to keep me down? I’m always gonna crawl my way back to you. Hey, it’s the truth.” He reached over their bowls to flick his forehead affectionately. “You’re the end goal, baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: this chapter depicts a little bit of eiji's casual unattachment to being alive. be safe, and have fun!

As Eiji stepped out the terminal, weaving his way through the last batch of passengers and their trolleys beating dust back into the asphalt, Eiji clutched his camera-bag close and squinted into the air. Summer in New York had arrived, draping its arm over the city like an overeager lover. Still, it was a relief to be on his feet; once, just the thought of tasting the sky was something that pulled him out bed - outside a sunless dawn, just him, the pole, and the ever-shrinking run up distance before takeoff. And, of course, the sky, always an arm’s width away.

Being up in the air - it did something to his stomach now. The feeling wouldn’t quell until he was sure there was dirt under his feet and his own shadow tacked to his heels, just where it was supposed to. Some things you’re just not meant for. Eiji knew that now.

He looked at his battered shoes and exhaled. In the distance, someone was calling his name. Eiji turned towards the sound, eyes widening, then jogged across the parking lot.

“Your hair!” Eiji cried. “They let you get away with that in uni?”

“It’s uni, not a preschool. Besides, school’s out, and I can do whatever I want,” Sing huffed, but ran a palm across his new undercut, up the dark parting of his hair.

“You have a license for that?”

“Sure do.” Sing grinned, pulling out an imaginary card. “See? It says I can do whatever the hell I want. ‘Sides, you wanna talk about haircuts? Let’s talk about yours. Now c’mere, you grandpa.”

Eiji made an offended sound but let himself unspool into the circle Sing’s arm anyway, jostling the paper bag Sing had cradled in his elbow. He’d brought melonpan, Eiji knew, just from a whiff of it; probably got it from the cheap Asian grocer two blocks away just for him, and it made his heart swell twice its size with affection. Two months in Boston for a shoot was too long;  _go do your job_ , Sing had told him into the phone, responsible as always, and kind, always kind. _Let’s do somethin’ fun when you come back, okay?_

And here he was, as promised. It was almost ridiculous now, how many dead-end scenarios Eiji had conjured during the flight, and for what? His stomach felt all wrong again, declaring mutiny against him. But as Sing pried Eiji’s fingers from his sukajan jacket and stepped back to get a look at him, Eiji quickly re-arranged his face again.

“So, what was that again? About my haircut?”

“You look like a Jonas Brother from far away, but Asian,” Sing answered easily, gesturing. “What's with all this? Growing a mullet? Trying to be in with the youth?”

“I do not understand a single thing you just said,” Eiji said, deadpan. “And who is Jonas?”

“Wow, yeah. You really are an old man. Come on, my car’s parked that way. Wait, where’s the rest of your luggage?”

Eiji adjusted the strap of his bag. “This is everything. And I get busy, that is all. No time for the barber.”

“Right, of course, of course,” Sing sighed. Then he beamed, slinging an arm over Eiji’s shoulders; he was tall enough to do it without much effort, and it was something Sing was not above gloating.

“Don’t,” Eiji warned.

“I was just gonna say I got you some snacks, jeez.” But there was the cheeky twitch in the side of his mouth. Eiji accepted the wrinkled paper bag without further comment, momentarily appeased. “Now come on, sun’s roasting my fucking ass out here.”

The parking lot was packed, and a line of cars was forming at the exit. Within five minutes Sing had flipped off a rather aggressive Accord that tried to surge ahead even when they were clearly crossing the street; this was one of those times Eiji was grateful Sing had yet to grow out of his gang boss swagger.

As they got in Sing’s tiny car - its owner’s head was gonna hit the roof in few years, he was sure of it - Eiji felt the need to clarify: “You look good, I mean,” Eiji said, filing the way Sing responded to that for later. He winked, said, “Suits you.”

“Thanks,” Sing said, after a moment. His hand fluttered, inches from his hair as if he couldn’t believe it was on his head, then he put his hand on the brake and they pulled out the car park.

Soon, the airport was falling behind them through the rear window. As if to himself, Sing said: “Every time I look in the mirror, I wanted to remember. I… I want to honor him.”

Eiji’s fingers sought the groove in his seat. Of course Sing would. That was just his fundamental nature; built on principle, loyal beyond belief. Eiji couldn’t fathom how he deserved him here, encasing him in the kind of support that asked no questions.

“Is that weird?” Sing looked at him, and Eiji shook his head immediately.

“Sing, you’re…” Eiji began. “You’re a good person. I wish I was half as strong as you.”

Sing’s lips shunted into a line. “Except you are.”

Eiji shook his head, smiling. Then, before it was too late to turn the conversation on its head, he dug his hand into the paper bag and stuffed a melonpan into his mouth.

He made a pleased noise. “Waaa,” he said, swallowing a bite; the sweetness melted on his tongue, lingering behind his teeth. Always, it tasted like home. “Thank you, Sing. I missed this. I thought for sure I was going to get sick from all the burgers I had to eat this week.” He dug in, added, “I do not think my body is ever going to get completely used to American fast food.”

“Ha! If you enjoyed that, you’re in for a fucking treat. We’re gonna have the best weekend getaway, no whites allowed.”

“By getaway, you mean-”

“Eating cold noodles, all-you-can-eat watermelon slices, parking our asses in front of the TV watching Terrace House and lots of anime. Being bums. You know the drill.” They were climbing the skyway that connected the airport to the suburbs and Eiji was stunned by all the green he saw all around them. Sing said, “What? It’s only fair - we gotta work twice as hard to keep up with these jerks all year-long. Plus, you owe me dinner.”

_You’ll need rituals_ , his therapist used to say; something to help him count the days, keep busy in the mundane.  _And maybe try not to leave people on read._  That was the last thing Eiji remembered from her, because he stopped coming after that.

He felt Sing’s eyes on him and tried to shake the dark shroud that was slowly crawling over him.

“You know what?” Eiji said, swallowing the last piece of his snack. “That sounds really good.”

“Right? Man, last year all we did was go to these lame parties. Day in, day out. That’s how my summer went. I mean - gotta do what you need, fit in with these rich educated pricks, you know? But nothing interesting ever happens this side of town. It’s kinda depressing.” There was a pause, then Sing said, “How was yours?”

“Uh.” Eiji struggled. Lately, remembering felt like sifting through sand. “I do not really… well, usually, we have these festivals. Back home, I mean.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. There are plenty of festivals. Every other week there was a new one. It was very busy. People running around and preparing things. Building stuff.”

“Sounds tiring.”

“No, no, it was,” he paused, then, failing to quell the longing in his voice, said, “summer was when the neighborhood came alive again.”

Sing hummed. Eiji could feel his gaze on him again like it something physical, grounding him here in this moment. He folded his hands on his lap to keep from pulling any more stray threads on Sing’s car seat.

“It is okay now,” Eiji assured him. “I think I will not miss it this time.”

“You don’t have to,” Sing said. “I hear the Japanese Relations Association in my school is hosting a summer festival next week - what was it, something ‘bout a star, and - you write some wishes on a piece of paper -”

“Tanabata,” Eiji said. He said it like someone had sheared off the vowel the moment it left his mouth. Then he nodded at Sing, and the dead thing had disappeared from his voice. “Yes. My family used to go there.”

“Hell, we should go!” Sing’s face lit up like he’d cracked a code. “A friend went last year, I hear it’s pretty close to the real thing. We can eat some yakitori, play some carnival games and shit. Watch some fireworks. Hey, why don’t you do a feature of it? Wouldn’t that be cool? Eiji?”

“Sorry, I-” and there was no reason for the sudden flowering grief that flooded his mouth, but Eiji felt it, couldn’t let it creep into his face so he turned to face the window instead. Why did he have to ruin every good thing he had? Why couldn’t he function right, for once? “Maybe… maybe I’ll pass on that one, for now," he heard himself say. "It’s just the crowds - I am no good with them lately, you know me. . . “ Half-truths, again; all he was good at. He looked at Sing and knew, without words, that he was reading him, seeing through each wall he’d clumsily stacked after the other for some semblance of strength.

“I’m sorry about that,” Sing said. “It’s no problem. Probably a snore anyway, compared to the real thing you guys have back home.”

Eiji was shaking his head. “God. I’m sorry I keep-”

“Hey, I said it’s no problem-”

Eiji looked at him helplessly. “I don’t… I don’t want to-”  _burden you, keep you down here with me_ ; he swallowed each word like glass. “The last thing I want to do is-”

“Eiji.” Sing’s voice struck him like a needle. Once, it had commanded all of Chinatown’s attention. Now, with just a few more years, it was embedded with steel - but always, always, there was an underbelly of kindness, with him; Eiji deserved none of it.

Sing looked at him from the corner of his eye, said, with a new smile, “I told you. It’s no problem, alright? It was just a thought.”

Sing had that expression again, and Eiji surrendered. What else could he do? He mirrored Sing’s smile, then turned back to the window, watching the skyline and sidewalk coalesce until a strip of lakewater, bright with the afternoon sun, emerged from the backdrop.

After a while, Eiji said, “So, you’re making noodles tonight?”

Out of nowhere, Sing cursed. He slapped the steering wheel. “The eggs!”

“The eggs?”

“I forgot to buy the - fucking hell, making noodles without  _eggs -_ what am I _-_ ”

Sing looked genuinely distraught, and for a moment everything was better. Eiji clucked his tongue, playing along. “You forgot to buy the eggs?”

“Shit, yeah I know. Tell me when you see a grocery store, okay?”

“Sure - or we can always get those cup noodles-”

“No! Enough! It’s gonna be authentic shit or none at all, you hear me? I won’t have it,” he huffed, and when Eiji began to laugh softly, he said, “Hey, we’re good, right?”

Eiji found Sing looking at him closely, his lips pursed comically and the plume of his hair so devastatingly like Shorter’s it terrified Eiji more than any gun, any ghost. Sing always knew when Eiji was seconds from bolting, out to the woods and never to return. The way he spoke - quiet, controlled - was all to pacify him.

Come to think of it, Sing was always waiting - by the phone, by closed doors, hand stretched out as if to say  _Are you here? Are you still with me?_

“Of course,” Eiji replied. And if Sing detected another half-truth, he didn’t show it. “Of course,” he repeated, this time to convince himself.

Sing looked at him for a moment, quickly assessing, measuring, perhaps checking if Eiji’s smile was as true as he hoped it to be. Then he broke into a grin, said, “You know what? I have a really good feeling about today, Eiji.”

 

* * *

 

Eiji sank further into his seat, the hum of the engine burring softly in his chest. Outside, the sunset was almost gone, the last traces of light gasping behind the leaves.

Sing had parked the car by the side of road to pick up last-minute ingredients. The kid was like a bamboo shoot; Eiji could see the top of his head from here across the street, bobbing between the aisles. At this rate Eiii wouldn’t catch up, even in forty years.

He sighed, let his eyes flutter close, then open. From the window, he could see the lake’s surface glimmer like a gossamer dress, pricked with light. Each flicker came from a hundred windows of the city, each window from a room, warm with its occupants. Eiji knew, because one of those lights would’ve been his tonight, if it weren’t for Sing.

Something else caught his eye. Sing had hung a good luck charm on his rear view window sometime earlier when Eiji had fallen asleep. Red knots, looped to infinity, then weaved through three gold coins. It dangled in place. As Eiji shifted to reach for the tassel, there was a lurch that traveled beneath him, then a loud hiss like the car was coming to life on its own, which wasn’t possible, but then his torso was flung forward and-

“What-”

It was instinct that saved his head from smashing through the window, his hands slamming on the dashboard to break the momentum. When he swung his gaze desperately outside, Eiji saw a blur of roadside shops, their roofs pulling ahead, the grocery and Sing-

_The car’s going in reverse_ , Eiji’s mind belatedly informed him - as he felt the world tugged from beneath his feet - thud thud thud - as the wheels rammed violently into something, once, twice, several times -  _stairs_ , Eiji realized, yelling in a panic, but the car wouldn’t stop,  _the car wouldn’t stop_ -

There was a terrible second where his guts left him - the car was in midair, no, the car was falling - and a crash, barely a moment later, that sent his head whiplashing against the dashboard, his hands too late this time, and

Water. There was light on the water and the water was rushing into the gaps, clogging the mechanism, and there was lights, spots around his vision, fairy lights, beautiful lights. What were you supposed to do when your car fell into a river anyway? Eiji’s head swirled, covered in fog. Stupid car. Sing did say it was ancient as life. The stupid tassel swung between his eyes too, like a punchline, and Eiji remembered:  _When the water fills your car completely, roll down the window and swim to the surface._

Why did he know that? Eiji couldn’t remember. Maybe he’d researched it for an article. Or maybe he’d fantasized going out like this; who knew? He couldn’t yell, couldn’t feel his tongue. And he wouldn’t open the window, because what was the use in that? Eiji closed his eyes, and it felt like flying; he was weightless for once, the water inching up his chest, his nostrils, and maybe it was just human, just the desperate animal in him that clung on, stealing one last desperate gulp of air, and then Eiji didn’t try anymore.

 

* * *

There was soft earth under him, and then he was pushing up to his feet and it was a surprise, how easily the water gave way to the sky. The air was sweet, thrumming with the promise of birds. Eiji hobbled up the bank, gasping fitfully, pulling himself up to where the water was ankle-deep when he looked up there he was - Ash Lynx, in the flesh, the love of his life, looking like a very disgruntled wet cat.

“Ash?” Eiji said.

Instantly, everything else fell behind - the grass under his feet, the sun on his back, the world slightly more skewed than he remembered, like when you pressed your hands into your eyes it softened the edges of your sight. And Ash was frowning at him.

Eiji had dreamt of Cape Cod several times - and Ash, of course, its lone, beautiful ghost - Ash’s pale hair plastered on a pale cheek, Ash sipping on warm soda, Ash pressing him reverently against the bark of every tree - but never once was Ash like this: he looked pissed beyond belief. The way he looked at Eiji - like he was the dream, not the other way around.

Eiji clambered up the slope til they were only a foot away. “Ash,” Eiji whimpered, hands twitching.

“Don’t  _Ash_ , me,” Ash snapped. That was odd. Ash never spoke in his dreams. There was a blur of motion and reflexively, Eiji caught something that was chucked at him. It was a towel, baby blue. Beside Ash, a clothesline danced. He said: “Care to talk about that little stunt you pulled? Hm? What was that?”

“Huh…?” Eiji said. He let the towel slide off his face. His head needed rebooting. There was no other word to describe it; Ash looked betrayed. “What are you talking about?”

“What else? I’m talking about that.” Ash pointed behind him, towards the river, and when Eiji looked back it felt like his body was plunged in ice, and there was water in his mouth, filling his nose, and it was dark dark dark like looking up from the bottom of a fishbowl, and then he heard Ash cursing - “Shit, okay, maybe not - hey,  _hey_ -“

Eiji gasped, eyes flying open. Ash had pushed him beneath the shade of a tree, leaning him against it.

“Shit, whoops,” Ash said breathlessly. The sun shivered behind his ear. “Yeah, you shouldn’t wake up yet.”

“I’m dreaming,” Eiji mumbled.

“Correction: you’re dying,” Ash said, and his eyes glowered darkly. He reached for the towel and roughly dragged it over Eiji’s cheek. “And by choice, seems like it.”

Eiji looked at him. “This is a weird dream.”

His chin was tugged, and he was looking Ash right in the eyes; he couldn’t remember the irises being this green in real life, like all of god’s good green earth had been swallowed up in them. Eiji was hallucinating, he was sure of it. “Well, at this rate you’ll be dreaming for eternity, that’s for fucking sure,” Ash said quietly. He stopped drying Eiji’s hair. “Stuck with me forever.”

“That would be nice,” Eiji murmured.

Ash smiled, his eyes sad. “I think so too. But you’re light-years too early for that, nii-chan. Gotta get you out of here soon.”

“Wait,” Eiji said, and he grabbed Ash’s arm when he went to stand; it was talent, really, that Ash could devastate him in such few words, even in a dream as beautiful as this. “No, I want to stay! Please let me stay.”

“You can’t, Eiji.”

“Please, I’ve waited long enough-“

“God, don’t say that! Don’t you get it? As long as I’m around, I’ll make sure you won’t be coming back here for a long, long time.”

Eiji jerked his hand back, like he was stung. He hid his quaking smile under his bangs. “Cruel as ever, Ash. You really do not want to see me, is that it?”

“God help me,” Ash said. The way he ran his hands through his hair was so true to life Eiji wanted to choke and burn. He said, “What part of me being around did you not understand? I’ve been here. Since the beginning. And by god, Eiji. Got first row seats to this shitshow, watching you do all that dumb shit like that last one, fucking brilliant-“

“Oh fuck you.” Eiji voice shook. “You’re not real.”

Ash’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe I’m real, maybe I’m not,” he began haughtily, standing up to make his way around the tree, “maybe I’m a ghost-” and Eiji craned his neck to follow him move, unwilling to let him go just yet, watching him lift a leg over a big root and stepping beneath a branch, “-maybe I’m Death itself, who cares?” and the tree’s shadow slipped over his skin like a robe, for a moment elongating him into something frightening and familiar, until Ash emerged on the other side, from where he started, real skin and eyes and arms crossed and saying, “Who cares? I don’t. I’m here.” He frowned down at him. “And you’re still talking to me.”

Eiji pushed himself up. “Then, the car… was that-”

“Me? No, the fuck, of course not. That,” he said, squatting down to meet Eiji halfway, “was just life being a random pain in the ass. It does that, you know? Pulls a fast one on you when you’re not looking. Like… like engine failure, or a knife-wielding pathetic sewer rat  _lowlife_  come to ruin your day.”

Ash seemed startled at the tear that slipped down Eiji’s face. “Hey,” he said insistently, then cupped Eiji’s cheek. “I’m not mad about it anymore. Actually, it’s kinda sweet out here. I can go wherever I want. Society’s better when mortality is outta the picture. Water’s clean everywhere. Free real estate.”

“Must be nice,” Eiji mused, leaning into his hand, “being dead. Cannot wait.”

Ash withdrew his touch. His face darkened, and the sky above was starting to curdle, lightning blue into a furious bruise.

“Stop that. You don’t get to be angry.” Eiji stuck his tongue out at him. “After all, last I checked -  _you_  left  _me_.”

Somewhere, a seagull cried. And then Ash was talking Eiji’s hand, pressing it tenderly between his own palms, and Eiji was sure Ash was going to feel his pulse hammering away and laugh; Eiji couldn't keep up, even now.

“I did, didn’t I,” Ash said carefully. “I don’t have an excuse, Eiji. I wish I did - would it make things better, if I did? I kept thinking about it. But I still don’t. At least, not the reason I wish I had, that day.” Ash pressed the knuckles of Eiji’s hand against the corner of his mouth, his eyes falling shut; Eiji’s heart was bare and bleeding on his face. And then Ash’s eyes opened and it was like he was different, softer, unguarded. “I think… being alive, you do what you can, with all the answers you think you have. That was my answer. Maybe, if - maybe if I’d had just a bit more time to spare, you know… maybe, I’d have come up with something else.”

“Something less stupid,” Eiji agreed, and Ash laughed softly.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I could’ve surprised you. I think... I could’ve surprised myself.”

“You deserved more time.”

Ash squeezed Eiji’s hand. “And you’ve been hurtin’.”

Eiji swallowed. He’d simulated this confrontation in dreams, but all the anger he’d been harboring sputtered and stopped. All that was left was phantom pain.

“But you came back.” He heard Ash say in wonder. “You shouldn’t leave your home for thugs like me.”

Eiji pulled his hand away only to shush him. “That day, when they buried you, they buried me too,” Eiji confessed. “Do you not know? I left my heart in New York.”

Something glimmered in Ash’s eyes. “Jesus,” he sighed, then dragged a hand over his face. “You’re so - do you even hear half the things that come out of your mouth?”

“Most of the time, no,” Eiji said. “I am just a stupid Japanese man - I speak nonsense and just hope the other person knows what I am saying, am I right?”

“Spot on,” Ash said. “And what do you do when people don’t understand?”

“I keep on talking anyway.” 

Ash was laughing again. It was a good sound, and it sent Eiji’s mind reeling. There was a lightness to him that he’d never seen before, the ease of how light settled into his face, so unburdened unlike he was in real life.

“Enough of this,” Ash decided. He stood up, then offered his hand. “Come on, we don’t have enough time.”

Eiji didn't think twice; he let Ash pull him to his feet. “Where are we going?”

“You said you wanted a weekend getaway, didn’t you?” he grinned, turned up the hill, then, when he was far off enough, turned around and called out, all smooth-talking New York swagger, sly like he knew he was the love of Eiji’s life: “Well? Come on."

 

* * *

 

They emerged into a drab hallway that reeked faintly of antiseptic and sweat. Without warning, Ash stopped walking, and Eiji nearly collided into him.

Eiji blinked at what he saw: a white lab coat was draped on Ash’s back. Though Eiji himself was unchanged - the shaggy hair and the newfound inches that let him talk with Ash eye-to-eye - he was wearing a hospital gown from that night. A chill crept over his skin. If he peered under his clothes, maybe he’d even have the-

“This is-”

Ash didn’t need to say it. They both knew where this was. It was the last time they saw each other, after all.

Instinctively, Eiji shot a glance behind him; it was clear, they were safe,  _Ash_  was safe. His hand hovered over his stomach restlessly. “I don’t like this,” Eiji whispered.

Ash turned to meet him. Grimacing, he said, “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Wordlessly, they reached for each other’s hands at the same time. Eiji gripped Ash’s hand hard, swearing never to let go again, feeling his heart crowd his throat. He squeezed and squeezed Ash’s hand. And Ash was squeezing his back.

Side by side, they walked down the hallway.

“Does it hurt?” Eiji asked, glancing at Ash’s stomach.

Ash shook his head. “Like an ant bite. You?”

“Like an ant bite, but much smaller.”

Eiji was rewarded with a sideways grin. “You tough-talker. But I guess we’re making it out okay this time. Here,” Ash said, holding the door beneath the EXIT sign open for him, “You go-“

“No,” Eiji said, a thousand emotions flickering through his face at once. He tugged Ash close. “Together.”

Ash looked at him, really looked at him, then he nodded, and together they both stepped into it.

 

* * *

 

It was strange for Ash to be such a gentlemen - the real thing this time, not the performance, not the fake curtsies and high-pitched infantilizing cadence he used to adopt as a joke for “cute helpless baby Eiji.” This Ash was smooth, all fox-like grace, the makings of what would be the death of him, if Eiji wasn’t already.

Ash would seek him out as they walked down the street, a little glance and a small smile sent his way as if to check up on him. When they passed through a bustling crowd, Ash slid an arm around his waist. And then, when they reached the restaurant, he’d opened the door and led him up the step with a hand on the small of his back, like he’d seen couples do in all the movies. Like he was some precious thing.

Eiji waited for the punchline, but it never came. Then he’d made a passing remark about it being cold and in the next moment Ash had tutted in pretend-annoyance, pulled up a chair for him, and seated Eiji on a table for two, draping his beige parka on his shoulders.

It was unnerving. It was exhilarating. Was this what they could’ve become?

Eiji was too distracted by the tear on the thigh of Ash’s denim jeans as he made his way around the table that he realized things too late; the clamor of the restaurant knocked against his senses, demanding attention. Eiji looked around. Everywhere: red lanterns and octagon mirrors, a light cloud of steam mingled with sweat and chatter. The smell of something turned better in fire.

This was Shorter’s Chang Dai. Eiji’s body jerked like muscle memory, and he blurted, “Is he here too?”

Across him, Ash pushed his chair closer and shook his head. “Nah. He’s... got somewhere to be.”

“Oh,” Eiji said, disappointment clear in his voice. No matter where he looked, the faces of the customers swirled in and out, like a weird hologram that never stayed still enough for him to get a good look. Eiji turned back to Ash - his face, at least, was clear as day - and confessed: “I miss him.”

Ash smiled at him kindly. “He misses you too. Talks about you a lot,” Ash said. “Hungry?”

Eiji barely opened his mouth when two twin steaming bowls of beef noodle soup, topped with bok choy and green onions, materialized on their table.

“Never gets old,” Ash said, pushing a bowl towards himself. He made a gesture as he ate, eyebrows drawing together in bliss. “Shit, that hits the spot.”

“Wow.” He’d never seen such gusto on Ash’s face; meal times were a practical affair in Ash’s domain, rarely one for enjoyment. Eiji had caught glimpses of it, but that was it. “I am kind of jealous. I wish you liked my food the way you like Shorter’s.”

“I liked your food well enough. It’s just that - what was it? That natto stuff.” Ash shivered. “Some tastes just aren’t worth acquiring.”

In normal circumstances, Eiji would lean across the table and swat his shoulder. Now, he just watched him eat, with a kind of resigned fascination. Eventually, he dragged a spoon to his mouth and tried the broth. It tasted like nothing. He looked around, watching all the customers carve into their meals, then Ash practically inhaling his noodles, and kept his mouth shut. He put his spoon down.

“Ash,” he said, finally; it spilled out of him, “are you really here? I mean… if you’re really - why now? What have you been doing?”

Ash hummed thoughtfully, cradling his chin on his palm. “Me? Huh. I guess I’ve been reading a lot of books. Had a lot of stuff to catch up to, you know?” He paused. “Sunsets. Watched a lot of sunsets. Do y’know I get to make it go slow as I want? I’ll show you. Never stayed still long enough for me back then. Lots of things, Eiji. Jesus. Lots of things passed me by. Huh. Guess I’ve been making up for lost time. Taking walks around the city, for instance - was always watching my back, counting exits, waiting for some fucker to jump me. It’s all right now. A walk’s just a walk, and it’s fucking fantastic.” There was a pause as Ash popped a piece of beef into his mouth. “I like to watch people doing boring things. Mostly you.”

Eiji breathed through the ache in his lungs. “Then… I don’t understand. Why stay here?”

“I know, why stay in this awful city, am I right? Should’ve followed you back home to Japan.”

_Home_. “Ash,” he said, and this time his voice broke cleanly in two.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I did want to, you know?” There was a small terrible smile in the corner of his cheek, and Eiji yearned to chase it. “I really did. Dreamt about it. God, Eiji.” Ash chuckled, twirling his chopsticks in the air, said, “I always thought it was the - the promised land, or whatever, you know? You know Moses, from the Bible? Wait, shit - of course not. Anyway, to answer your question,” he looked at Eiji, and his expression dampened. “I can’t. I can’t go on yet. Not til I’m sure you’ll be okay. It’s the least I can do.”

Eiji bit his lip, then shook his head, processing each word slowly. “That is - that is stupid,” he babbled. “You don’t owe anyone anything, most of all this country. Or me, most of all-“

“Silly,” Ash said. “Me being here? It’s not a sentence. I could never stay away from you for long. You think a stupid grave’s enough to keep me down? I’m always gonna crawl my way back to you. Hey, it’s the truth.” He reached over their bowls to flick his forehead affectionately. “You’re the end goal, baby.”

At that, any remaining part of Eiji’s brain that wasn’t fried in panic ceased to function. Eiji nodded dumbly, rendered mute. Ash laughed hysterically at his expression.

“Jesus,” he said, dragging a hand over his face. “First love confession?”

Eiji shook his head. “First from you.”

“Ah.” Ash agreed. “It is, isn’t it? God, it is. Hey, eat your food, won’t you? You’re gonna break Shorter’s goddamn heart when I tell him you didn’t jive with his noodles. And tell me about your day while we’re at it. We never got a chance to talk normal like this, did we?”

“Sometimes. But not a lot. It is okay - a lot of things were happening. You were taking care of many people.”

“It’s just us now.” Ash smiled. “How was your day, Eiji?”

Eiji’s face warmed. He was never going to get used to this. “Um - well, my car fell into a river-“

“Whoakay, before that.”

“Um… oh, Sing picked me up from the airport today.”

“Oh?”

“I came back from a shoot. In Boston. It is so much hotter in New York.”

“It’s the pollution,” Ash explained, then, when he noticed Eiji reaching for an empty glass, waved a hand and said, “Here you go,” and there was ice water in it.

“Showoff,” Eiji murmured.

“That’s not the only thing I can do,” Ash said. “And?” he prompted.

Eiji drank. “We were driving... Sing has gotten very tall, have you seen him? It is unfair. We stopped for groceries, and then... well, I don’t think anything much happened today, I think.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It has been a pretty boring day.”

“Come on, don’t hold out on me.”

Eiji chuckled. “I really do not know what to say. You were the most interesting thing about me, you know.”

“Okay, that won’t do.”

“It’s the truth,” Eiji said. Ash stopped eating. Something complicated passed through his face, and was gone, just like that.

“Show you something.” 

Ash pushed up from their table and beckoned him to follow. Eiji stumbled after him clumsily, down where Ash’s back disappeared into the kitchen where he imagined Shorter would make dumplings and stack plates and sneak a cig when Nadia wasn’t around, then finally out the back door where a brilliant afternoon day waited to be discovered.

 

* * *

 

Ash whistled and the red pickup came turning the corner like a mirage, red as every single dappled apple of his dreams. Ash himself was golden, his pale skin peeking through the rips in his jeans and his hair was windswept and Eiji was struggling to keep composure - he’d seen Ash in every possible iteration, Ash when he dressed himself in suits and sex, Ash sweating in his favorite grime-covered jacket, Ash caked in a second-skin of blood,  _his_  blood - but this Ash was infinitely better. It reminded him of those teen magazines his younger sister hoarded, ones with pictures of “American heartthrobs” like young Leonardo diCaprio. He didn’t get the appeal then, but that was starting to change.

“Come on, “ Ash said, throwing the door open, grinning carelessly, and caught Eiji off-guard. “Something on my face?”

“Yeah,” Eiji said, and without thinking reached across and pinched Ash’s nose til he yelped. His face was starting to irritate him, the way it reshuffled all the parts in his chest without permission. Ash whined childishly and Eiji laughed, jumping into the passenger seat.

“That’s bullying, nii-chan.” Ash slipped into the driver’s seat next to him, cradling his nose. It was pinking, and Eiji wanted to do it again, then again.

“Not my fault. Your pretty face is annoying.”

“You think I have a pretty face?”

Eiji huffed, defeated. “W-where are we going anyway?”

Laughing, Ash adjusted his seat, then threw him a look heady with promise. “The only place to be, baby - downtown LA!”

And true enough, when they turned the corner the world seemed to breathe -  _finally_ , it seemed to say, the road expanding into fields of cacti and sparse shrubs and an endless stretch of road, sandstone slopes carved into the horizon, and beyond, a glimmering city he’d thought he’d never step foot into again.

“Roll your windows down - yeah, that’s how you do it!”

Ash whooped, stepping on it, and Eiji held on for his goddamn life as the wind cartwheeled inside the compartment. Outside, little farm houses emerged into view, soon replaced by gasoline shops and strip malls and billboards advertising posh hotels he couldn’t possibly afford, and slowly something in Eiji unspooled. Without thinking, he stuck his head out the window and yelled. And then he did it again, louder this time, and it made Ash laugh, so he did it thrice, and each time the wind snatched his voice away into some mountain peak his own feet would never reach, his own heart thunderous.

They drove and drove and drove - only stopping for watermelon slices sold on the street, and they sat up on the back of the pickup while they ate, the sweetness turning their fingers sticky. They drove some more and Ash dialed the stereo up, singing on the top of his lungs,  _ooh, baby do you know what that’s worth?_  And Eiji answered,  _ooh heaven is a place on earth!_  He didn’t know how he knew the words; maybe it was the liminality of this place that allowed their vague histories and cultures to merge, because he was singing along, pulled ahead by Ash’s unwavering empo, singing badly and off-key until the sun sank behind the clouds and LA went alive, bright and buzzing with nightlife, and Eiji found his old courage again, reached over the hundred mile distance between them and held Ash’s hand, and Ash let him, Ash let him, Ash let him.

 

* * *

 

“Where’d you want to go?”

“With you? Everywhere.”

 

* * *

 

“I am shocked. It is almost like I am back home. How is it so… Japanese?”

“Well, it’s called Little Tokyo for a reason.”

“ _Yabai, yabai_ -”

“Hold up, Eiji, relax, okay? I know you’re excited-”

“Ash! They have dango! Here, try this-”

“I’m not really- _mff_.”

“Good, right? We should look for-oh my god. Is that-?”

“...yeah, what’s with all that paper? Wait, where are we going?”

“We’re right on time for Tanabata! Come on, you slow American.” Eiji tugged him into the fray. “We have to get you into a yukata-”

“Jesus Christ.”

* * *

 

“I thought it would go faster than this,” Eiji stated.

“It’s the world’s shortest railway, Eiji, what did you expect?” Ash said, matter of fact. “Aside from its historical value, it’s the view you pay for, really. And I need a better seat. This one. No-this one. Yes.”

“Please just pick a seat.”

“Nope. Okay. Here, this is the one.” Ash wiggled himself into the seat next to Eiji and grinned.

Eiji smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself.”

“Oh, we stopped. This is it?”

“Guess it is.”

A pause.

“You want to go again?”

“Absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

“You think we can-”

“We are  _not_  vandalizing the Walk of Fame, Ash.”

“We are not vandalizing the Walk of Fame, Ash,” Ash mimicked in a tinny voice, stomping over Donald Trump’s star. “You’re boring.”

 

* * *

 

“I always said, when everything was over, I’d take you to the movies,” Ash confessed. They were weaving across the street, passing by jazz bars that trickled bluesy hits into the air, and Eiji’s chest tightened impossibly.

Eiji watched Ash’s face. Over his white tee, he was wearing a leopard-print shawl Eiji helped him pick out from the vintage shop they stopped at last; on a lesser man, it would’ve looked outrageous, but Ash added a regal-ness to it that wasn't misplaced. Eiji himself was in a faded red bomber jacket he bought two sizes too big that Ash thought was tacky but Eiji loved nonetheless. Surrounded by all the locals, they fit right in.

“I would’ve liked that,” Eiji said.

“Think we missed the showing though.” They stopped by the front of the theatre, which was deserted. A bunch of empty popcorn husks littered the floor. “We’ll catch the credits at least.”

“Not a problem,” Eiji said, winking at Ash. “I could watch this all day.”

“You’re all talk aren’t ya, Okumura.” Ash tilted his head coyly. “Get in here.”

Ash put an arm out, and Eiji looped his own right through, and they walked into the night to nowhere.

 

* * *

 

“Where do we go now, sweetheart?” Ash said into his hair.

They were swaying under a lone lamp light, swaying to a beat only they could hear, and Eiji buried his face into Ash’s neck and prayed the night was long.

“Let’s go home,” Eiji said wistfully.

Ash was quiet for a moment, and then he felt him nod. “Okay,” Ash said.

 

* * *

 

“Ash?” Eiji called. The darkness was complete in the room, until his fingers scrabbled against the wall and found the light switch, and instantly the living room appeared beneath the flickering lights. “Ash. Ash!”

“Over here, jeez, don’t yell!” he heard Ash say, from a room over, and Eiji had to hold himself back from stumbling into the room. He found him with his hands pulling out two mugs from the drawer, tinkling the rest of the china. Without turning around, Ash said,“Wait a minute, stay there. I’m getting us coffee. You still like it with two creams, right?”

“Yes,” he said, feeling oddly displaced with him standing outside the kitchen; it was usually the other way around. Content to see him in place, Eiji let himself wander. They were in the penthouse, why didn’t he realize it sooner? Here was the carpet Ash likened to rough peach fuzz, the hallway, the two bedrooms and three beds, the leftover chill that always clung to the walls long after they turned off the AC.

His feet led him to the bedroom. Eiji approached the window at the end. Felt the lone chair beneath it. Outside, cars streamed endlessly down the road.

“Eiji?” Ash called, poking his head in the room. “There you are.”

Eiji turned his cheek to acknowledge him arrive. He reached out and dragged a finger across the window’s rim, collecting dust. All of a sudden, words weighed heavier. “I remember waiting for you here,” Eiji said.

There was a clink as Ash set their coffees down on the table. A muffled squeak as Ash sat down on the bed.

“When you left that door, I thought you wouldn’t return. Every day, I'd pray.” Eiji patted the ear of the chair. “Sat right here.”

Ash’s face was unreadable. “I caged you in.”

“No, you-” He turned to him, finally. “You protected me. You did the best you could. And I failed to help you.”

“Eiji, what are you talking about? You took a fucking bullet for me-”

“I  _left_  you.” Eiji gritted out, rawer and far more naked than he’d meant to, so he turned back to the window where he couldn’t see Ash’s face anymore, pressed his forehead against it. “For months, I thought - okay, maybe I just imagined that - imagine everything that happened, between us. Maybe I was just forgettable, heh. You were busy. You had so many people to take care of first. And then-”

“Eiji.”

“-you were- _dead_. Murdered.” Something huge and ugly and desperate was expanding inside him; for so long he’d hushed it into a corner but now it was crawling its way past the cracks, into the light. “Sing said- and he wouldn’t tell me, at first, you know- and I- I left. I left you behind and I should’ve stayed, they said they found the letter in your hands-” The rest of it petered out into a whisper. Eiji covered his mouth as stray tears slipped down his face; if he spoke anymore it would unravel the rest of him.

“Look at me, Eiji.”

Slowly, Eiji turned around. Ash’s arms were opened, and Eiji collapsed into them like a child. A wave of shame passed through him as more tears fell from his eyes, staining Ash’s shirt; he’d never wanted to cry in front of Ash again, never wanted to burden him any further than necessary. Stranger still - how he opened his eyes and Ash had not vanished into thin air. His arms were around him, encasing him, a thumb rubbing shapes into his spine.

As Ash spoke, the sound of his voice traveled through him: “Hey, you know - when I died? I didn’t feel any of it. I know, hear me out. Okay, for a bit I did, but then, after? Gone. All the hurt, all the anger. And the fear. God, Eiji. I’ve been afraid my whole fucking life, and then… I wasn’t.”

“You tried not to show it,” Eiji murmured. “You couldn’t; you tried to be a leader for us.”

“And I was so fucking afraid, Eiji. But you took it away, even if for a few minutes. That’s what your letter gave me. In my last moments, I was... just a person. Or at least - I could become one. I could go home.” Ash said, eyes faraway. “Everything you see now is because of you.” He pushed them apart only to smile and press Eiji’s hand against his cheek. When he spoke again his voice was gutted, all facade cut down for the real boy underneath: “Thank you, Eiji. A hundred lifetimes over, thank you.”

He pulled Eiji up to the bed, laid him down until they were lying side by side, curled around each other like commas.

Ash whispered. “I don’t hurt anymore,” he said. “But you are. And I’m sorry.”

Eiji’s eyes fell shut wearily. He shook his head. “There is nothing to forgive.”

Ash thumbed over his eyelids. “But you’re still dying.”

“Is that why you are here?”

Ash smiled sadly. “I can’t let you die. You should know that.”

Eiji shushed him, fingers covering Ash’s mouth. “Will you kiss me?”

 

* * *

“Say it again.”

“I love you.” Ash kissed his jaw, his cheekbone. “Eiji, I love you.”

Eiji shuddered feverishly, like Ash had popped a bone back in its rightful place.

He would get on his knees and crawl for a taste of that pain again.

 

* * *

 

The train swayed as it rushed through the tunnel, light running across the floor like a staccato beat in the darkness. Eiji held onto the railing, and Ash was nowhere in sight.

Carefully, he made his way through the cabin. Entered the next. Empty.

“Ash?” he called. “Where did you go?”

His voice scattered through the compartment. The railway curved, and Eiji struggled to find his footing.

“Ash?” he yelled. “Did you-Ash!  _Ash!_ ”

And then he was running, bursting through each cabin, tripping over his feet only to get up again, a bruise forming on his cheek, and he was shouting Ash’s name into the dark and in the next second Ash reappeared, grabbing him by the middle and the force of it sent them both sprawling across the floor, limbs flying.

“I leave for one second and you-” Ash steadied him, pushing him up into a chair. “Fuck, we can’t do this. You can’t be like this, Eiji.”

Eiji gasped; he was trembling. “Don’t leave.”

“I'm not, I'm right  _here-_ ”

“But are you? Really? I blink once and then you are gone- how do I know I am not- what if it’s really it this time and you-”

“Eiji.”

“I know, I am pathetic, I am stupid, but I can’t-” He was trembling so hard his hands shook and his tongue got caught in his own teeth. “I just found you.”

“Eiji, would you listen to me?”

“No,  _you_  listen to me! I can’t okay? I can’t. It is no good without you- I am no good and I can’t- I can’t-”

“Hey, hey - talk to me.” Ash pushed up into the seat next to him. “You can’t what, Eiji?”

“I can’t be what they want. What you want.”

“And what do I want?”

Eiji smiled, painfully sad. “Me… being alive.”

Ash stared at him.

“These days I don’t… I am not very attached to being alive. Do you get it now, you stupid American?” Eiji said. “Something is wrong with me. Something been wrong with me for a long time, and I know I should stop looking back but I just want to be okay.” Eiji said. “That is all I wanted. Coming here to this stupid country. I thought finally, things can be okay again. But I was wrong.”

“But they can be. They can be, Eiji, won’t you see that? I mean, if someone like me got to experience something as good as I got - mind you, I was shit out of luck - then anyone can. Most of all you, Eiji. God, but it will take  _time_ -”

“Then tell me what to do, Ash!”

“You go home, and you go to your job, and you eat three meals a day, and you find people that make it better. You ask help. God, Eiji, you ask  _help,_ don't be stupid like me. And you go and you live and, shit, you  _try_ -”

“You think I don’t try?” Eiji nearly broke into a cutting laugh. “I try, Ash. I wake up and I take pictures for these corporate assholes to make them more money. I try and I smile and I take walks and I do everything everyone else should do, but I can’t- I do not fit in anymore, Ash. I’m not strong enough.”

“Yes you are.  _Yes you are_ ,” Ash said. “You were my fucking hero, nii-chan.”

That was the trigger; he felt whatever he had left crumple and collapse, and Eiji’s head hung heavily into his hands. “Not like this I’m not,” he said.

There was a pause, then Ash said, “Especially like this.” Ash’s hand that cradled his cheek was so unspeakably delicate Eiji wanted to cry. Ash quirked his mouth. “But I’ll be really disappointed if you don’t go back now.”

Ash held a hand over his eyes, shrouding him in the dark. A moment later, he pulled back and the world had stopped spinning. Somewhere, an ancient stereo was spitting out a mixture of static and remnants of a hip hop track. Eiji looked up, and all around them were people playing pool, arm wrestling on bar stools, knocking back cups of beer. He remembered feeling nauseous when he first arrived here; he’d never seen so many tattoos on a person, or inhaled so much secondhand smoke. He remembered wanting to take the first plane back home.

Intrinsically, he knew: this was it. This was the place; first and the last.

Behind him, there was a cheer as Ash lined up a shot and sank it in one fluid motion. Eiji turned, watched him straighten and lean against his cue stick. He was wearing the long-sleeved navy shirt the night they first met, red converse and the green plaid shirt tied around his waist. Unbidden, something desperate and humongous clawed inside him.

“How can I go back? I belong to where you are.  _Here_ ,” Eiji choked, banging his fist into the pool table’s rim. “This place. Your world is my world.”

“Oh, baby,” Ash said, setting his stick down and there was a collective booing as he left the game altogether. He stepped close. Looked at Eiji like he was something unbelievable. “Any world is your world. Someone like you shouldn’t have to worry - you’ll fit in just fine anywhere you want to go.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do,” Ash said, then tilted Eiji’s chin up, a teasing, proud smile playing on his lips. “Because that’s who you are. Because you’re stubborn. Because you made it this far.” He paused. “Did I mention you were a stubborn motherfucker?”

“I think you did,” Eiji managed, laughing a little as his lungs constricted with the ache of it, this casual undoing of who he was. He stepped closer and Ash met him halfway, nudging him cheekily on the shoulder.

“Good. Now will you give me my gun back?” Ash laughed. Eiji looked down and there it was, right out of urban legend - A Smith & Wesson, white tape around the grip; never missed a shot. The first time he’d held it, he felt nothing but naive wonder; now, giving it back, his hands shook, feeling its weight for the first and last time.

“Thank you,” Eiji managed, returning the gun in Ash’s hand where it belonged, feeling them careen towards the end.

“Hey, look at me. Next time I see you again,” Ash said, and sometime ago it had begun to pour outside, rain thrashing over the roof, “it’ll be the right time. I promise; I'll be the one who gets to lead you over. I swear it. And then you’ll have to bore me with all your stories. Okay?”

Eiji let the moment hang, just to feel Ash breathe. Calmly, he noted that water was cascading down the stairs from outside - first a stream, now a steady rush that drenched everyone’s shoes. Soon, a sheet of rainwater rose from between the tiles.

“Hey. Okay, Eiji?”

“Okay,” Eiji said, and it felt like a small death, saying it. “I’ll have a lot of stories.”

He was crying openly now.

“It’s not a sentence,” Ash said softly, tracing Eiji's ear once, as the storm raged and shook the walls and water went up their shins and the rest of the world continued to play pool in utter ignorance. “You know? You get to choose. You can still stay here, you know. But then that’s it.”

Eiji nodded. Felt the shift inside him. Thought, suddenly, of Sing, his stupid haircut as he scavenged for eggs. He wiped his tears.

“Well?” Ash was smiling brilliantly at him, hand on his hip, as two lights went out and cold rainwater grazed their knees. “We don’t have much time, you know.”

“Why did you have to be so wonderful?” Eiji whined, rushing forward to encase him in one last embrace - last for now - and turned on his heel before the moment trapped him here forever, and he went up the stairs, one foot after the other, as the flood waterfalled into their old haunt.

Then, ten steps before he was out bar, Eiji turned back.

Ash was still watching him below. The light above him flickered.

“You think,” Eiji blurted, “I can make it?”

“Do you want to?” Ash answered easily, the smart-ass he loved, and Eiji nodded, took one last hard glance and was off, out into the street above and into the mouth of the storm, and he was running back the way he came, past their old hotel, back before Ash Lynx had even touched his soul and winded himself tightly into the fabric of who he was, before he was even a memory inside him, ran until when he was just a lost nineteen year-old tourist from Japan, much sadder than he let on, and even before that - and maybe he really was leaving the love of his life again, but this was what Ash was trying to show him, Eiji realized now - the way back - back home, to himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost home, guys
> 
> meanwhile, some notes:
> 
> \- eiji's little vehicular accident is actually inspired by [real life events](https://coconuts.co/manila/news/suv-falls-pasig-river/). you'll be surprised how often these things happen in some parts.  
> \- asheiji's LA itinerary: Little Tokyo -> Angel's Flight -> Walk of Fame  
> \- Tanabata festival is a well-loved festival in Japan that celebrates the meeting of ill-fated lovers Orihime and Hikoboshi - more known as The Cowherd and Weaver Girl  
> \- this fic is also on [tumblr](http://pidgetails.tumblr.com/post/184072746336/return-to-the-ordinary-world). please consider reblogging <3  
> \- comments are highly appreciated! please [talk to me](https://twitter.com/boyghosts) about how asheiji deserved better
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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